


Vigil

by NeverQuiteLogistical



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, F/M, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 03:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18731059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverQuiteLogistical/pseuds/NeverQuiteLogistical
Summary: The time when Yennefer cared and worried for Geralt, and when he cared for her. Angsty one-shot





	Vigil

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on Tumblr, now moving it to AO3.

**FIRST: THE CONTRACT**

She knew the risks of his job, of his work as a witcher. But she knew he had always fared well, that he wasn’t called the White Wolf, _Gwynnbleid_ for no reason. So when he still had not returned at the break of dawn and she started worrying, she frowned and chided herself for thinking too much.

Geralt could take care of himself. No matter how close, how he was just a hair’s breadth away from death, he always made it back home.

Yennefer checked the window for the third time in that hour, her fingers rapping against her forearm with obvious frustration. When he came back, he would definitely get an earful from her. The majordomo, Barnabas-Basil, could only watch her helplessly. Seeing how she was upsetting the majordomo who waited faithfully at the door as well, she went into the kitchen for some peace and quiet.

Pacing back and forth, she once again regretted having forcing him to help her removing his last wish.. She knew it only made their love stronger, fiercer and more _real._ But back then she always knew when he was in danger, or if he was at the brink of death. Just like that time in Rivia –

 _No._ She sneered, forcing her thoughts away. _It won’t happen again. Geralt promised me. He promised._

And just then, the door barged open, startling her. Heavy footsteps treaded into the house, and Yennefer quickly exited the kitchen, her face a fuming mask of anger and frustration, but deep beneath hid a woman who was sick of worry, which was then washed away with relief once she heard the door opening.

“Witcher, just where the hell have you –”

She gasped. Her eyes wide as saucers. Geralt stumbled through the door, looking paler than usual, a hand pressed firmly on his neck which was crusted with steaming blood. There were several bite wounds on his arms which sealed quickly due to the effects of his potions. His armour was torn in several places, and purple veins were bulging clearly on his forehead and neck, his toxicity levels obviously off the charts.

He slowly turned his head towards her once he heard her voice. Yennefer saw how his eyes were dilating, and then a slow, sheepish grin appeared his face. She rushed forward and caught him before he fell.

Barnabas-Basil appeared from the bedroom upon hearing the commotion, then caught sight of Geralt.

“My lady –”

“Barnabas,” Yennefer said in a tone that brooked no argument. She held Geralt’s weight against her, ignoring how he stank of blood and death. “Get the tub into the bedroom, now. And medical supplies. And wine, _lots of wine,_ ”

The majordomo took off to do as she asked.

“Geralt, I’ll wash you down and dress your wounds. How many potions have you drank before the fight?”

Geralt groaned, his foot steps unsteady and his voice trailed as he spoke. “Black blood…” he mumbled. “One or two decoctions… I don’t remember… There wasn’t any White Honey left,”

Yennefer cursed. She laid him down on her chair, not even caring how her favourite spot was stained with blood and rot. The majordomo brought a tub full of water into the bedroom, and the items she asked as well.

The sorceress nodded her thanks and dismissed him. She then skilfully removed his armour, a routine which she was familiar with during several nights but not for this purpose. She placed his swords carefully on the side of the bed, knowing how much he fussed over his swords. She stripped him clean and then inspected his body marred with scars and wounds gathered over the years, looking for any fresh new additions.

Yennefer raised her hands, muttered a simple spell. And the cool water in the tub was steaming hot.

Just as Geralt rested in the tub, he sighed, his eyes closing. Yennefer panicked for a moment. She knew that sound, and how his eyes closed scared her. It reminded her of that time when he died, stabbed by a pitchfork in the chest. An inevitable death.

She knew she had to clear the toxics in his system first before she could dress his wounds. The effects of his potions were still strong. She chanted, then the tips of her fingers glowed as magic worked through his body.

“Geralt,” she spoke softly in his ear. He grunted in response. “Don’t fall asleep. Speak to me,”

“Yen… I’m too tired,” he slurred.

“You can sleep once you get out of the water,”

“Please, don’t fall asleep,” she pleaded, cursing inwardly as she couldn’t nudge him awake with her hands working the spell. “Tell me about the contract,”

Geralt nodded weakly. “There was a… bruxa in the area… I knew it. Took Black Blood before the fight… Just that…” he gulped before he continued. The veins on his forehead didn’t pulse as intensely as before. “It was a lair… There were… alps and fleders…”

Yennefer winced. He didn’t have to continue. She could guess the rest.

The room was silent for a very long time, with Yennefer coming to terms with what he had gone through, and Geralt resting while she filtered the potions from his bloodstream. It scared her, how she was constantly reminded of the risks of his work. She knew she couldn’t keep him from accepting dangerous contracts. She would tell him that he was too old for this and should leave it for other witchers, and he would tell her that he could be the only person who could get the job done. Their argument would always end in a huge fight with screaming and shouting, and it would always end with Geralt sleeping in the kitchen and Yennefer fuming and unable to sleep for the rest of the night.

He would coax her in the morn, but she knew she could never keep him away from danger.

“Yen,” Geralt whispered her name. She looked up, suddenly brought out of her thoughts. She didn’t notice how thick the silence was earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And she felt her heart wrench guiltily. She knew why he was apologizing, she didn’t have to read his mind to know.

“At least you’re home,” she whispered. Once she had finished chanting her spell, she started dressing Geralt’s wounds, practising her new healing powers which she developed in her current retirement days. She lifted Geralt gingerly, towelling him dry then led him to the bed, making sure he was comfortable.

She sat by the bed, watching him.

His eyes were half-opened, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. “Are you not coming to bed?”

“How, if I am sick with worry, and that you nearly had me scared to death?”

“Yen, you know me. I have to take the contract. Someone has to take care of them, the villagers, the innocents,”

Her violet eyes glistened under the morning rays, her lashes holding back her sorrowful tears. “And who takes care of you?”

He did not answer. Lethargy overwhelmed him. But before he gave in to the darkness, he mumbled. “I love you, Yen,”

The sorceress released a shaky breath, a tear slipping free from her eye. She leaned forward and brushed a white strand of hair from his face, rubbing the ball of her thumb against his forehead with affection. There were so many things she wanted to tell him then, but she chose to kiss him on the forehead, then gently on his lips.

Yennefer stayed awake the entire day and night, watching her witcher sleep peacefully, healing.

* * *

**SECOND: WITCH HUNT**

Geralt hated portals, but he knew he had no choice. And he would do anything to get to her as soon as possible.

Triss told him that he could only get out through the entrance, and to meet them at the friendliest spot in all of Oxenfurt, since she couldn’t risk opening another portal which could lead the hunters to the Lodge. She and Ciri would be waiting at Shani’s clinic, and prepare to repel any witch hunters should they be hot on his trail.

He trudged through the dungeon, trying to get rid of the fear in his heart as he saw the skeletons shackled to the walls. Dimeritium shackles and cells made out of dimeritium. Most of the cells contained emaciated corpses, and he prayed that he wouldn’t find her in that state.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he found her, still breathing. But his heart plummeted at the sight of her raven locks dishevelled, the dimeritium shackles biting deep into her skin, and her arms and legs marked by whips and brands.

In a fit of rage, he tore the door away, knelt down and broke the shackles that were hurting her. “Yen,” he called her urgently, lifting her head from the wet dungeon floors. Her head lolled around in his arms, and he saw how her lips were pale and cracked, a bruise under her eye and a cut right on her forehead. “Yen,” he called again, this time nudging her shoulder.

“Geralt,” she called out softly. Her brows creased, as though bothered by something. “You… you shouldn’t be here. It’s…”

“Hush now, I’m getting you out of here,” he whispered. “Lean on me. Try and walk. I can’t use my sword if I had to carry you out. Please, don’t fall asleep,” he gripped her hip tightly, holding her to him.

She chuckled lightly. “That… sounds familiar,”

He tried to walk slowly, waiting for her to take her steps. But most of the time he just dragged her since she was too weak to even move. As he walked down the cells, he had a hunch that something was not right – there were no guards in here.

“Get out… witcher,” Yennefer muttered. “It’s a trap… They knew… They knew you were coming,”

“We’re going out together,”

“I’m done for,” she gritted in pain. He winced as he heard her labouring breath. “I’m only slowing you down,”

“ _No,_ ” he snarled and continued walking, his grip on her hip even tighter. “I’m not leaving you,”

He kicked down the door at the end of the dungeon cells. And was met with a group of witch hunters on the other side. Three had their crossbows loaded and aimed at them, the others held their silver swords, sneering at them.

“You and the witch brought this unto yourself, mutant,” one of the witch hunters spat at his feet.

Geralt held his sword aloft, prepared to fight.

“Witcher,” Yennefer muttered. “Think of a place you wish to go right now. Visualize it in your mind,”

He knew what she was going to do. Geralt shook his head. “You’re too weak for that. Save your strength,”

She grunted in pain, then yelled. “Do it, Geralt!”

The witch hunter then realized the missing shackles. “She’s going to teleport out of here! Stop them!”

Geralt could barely process what happened next. Yennefer used her remaining strength to wrap her arms around his neck, and he could feel the air humming with magical energy, a glow surrounding him and Yennefer. Just behind her, one of the witch hunters fired his crossbow, the bolt coming towards them.

They vanished, and suddenly they were in Shani’s clinic. Yennefer’s arms were still around his neck, and he was still holding his sword.

He saw Triss and Ciri, however, their faces were not full of relief, but horrified. They both stared at them in shock, and he couldn’t tell why, until he felt the sorceress falling limp in his arms, her head lolling on his shoulder. She fell to the floor, and his hands held her shoulders tightly, falling with her.

He looked down, and saw the crossbow bolt, buried deep in her right shoulder blade. Yennefer gasped painfully, as though she could barely breathe.

It had pierced her lung.

Ciri stumbled towards her and fell to her knees. “Yennefer,” she called, her fingers trembling as she was too afraid to touch her. “Mother, please –”

“Geralt,” Yennefer gasped, blood forming in her mouth. She reached out each hand to both of them, the ones she loved the most. “Ciri, I…”

Her hands fell by her side before she could finish her sentence.

“What is it? Is Geralt back?” Shani barged from her room, then gasped at the sight before her. But it didn’t take long for her to recompose herself, and she swiftly wrapped an apron around herself. “Geralt, get her into my room, _now,_ ”

Geralt did without another word, lifting her off the ground, careful not to jostle her too much. Triss and Ciri followed closely behind.  

The whole time they waited in the corner of the room as Shani worked in silence. Ciri sat down on the floor with her knees up to her chin, rubbing the exhaustion out of her eyes as she held back her tears. Geralt watched the whole operation being done, and he was thankful that Shani did not usher them out. There was blood everywhere, staining the bed sheets she laid on and the bandages Shani used to staunch her bleeding. Cold sweat beaded Yennefer’s forehead, and Triss had to hold her still when Shani pulled out the bolt, the sorceress trembling even more and grunting in her unconsciousness.

Once the bolt was removed, Triss used her spells to seal the wound in her ruptured lung. Shani removed the blood that could obstruct her airway, and they were only done once the morning sun had appeared.

Throughout the operation, Geralt listened with his enhanced senses. He listened to her heartbeat. Weak, but still there. He prayed that he would never hear silence. When Shani finally heaved a sigh of relief and nodded at Geralt, he walked towards his Yennefer, who laid on the bed so frail and pale, almost dying.

It reminded him of that time when she remained vigil by his side. No matter how turbulent their relationship may be, they always found their ways back to each other.

Geralt sat at the chair by her bed, watching as her chest rose and fell in steady breaths. Triss carried Ciri out of the room, who had fallen asleep in the corner with tear tracks still visible on her face.

He watched her, sleeping and resting with her pale lips slightly parted. He did not know when she would be awake, but he would wait by her side. And when she woke he would tell her how much he loved her.

Geralt leaned towards Yennefer, and brushed away the raven locks that concealed her face, then he kissed her on her lips, whispering his love against her skin.


End file.
